Alphabets of Amour
by capitol-princess-turnedCaskett
Summary: A collection of SamXScam love stories from A-Z. May take prompts if anyone leaves me one for a specific chapter at my tumblr acc: capitol-princess-turned-caskett
1. An Apple a Day Keeps Tim Away

**Hi you all! This is my first fanfic EVER, so please be nice (haha, it's fine). I seriously hope you guys like it and if so, I'll carry on. If it's utter rubbish, I'll go back to the drawing board! ;) So please, tell me what you think of it! -CPTC xoxo**

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><p><strong>An Apple a Day Keeps Tim Away<strong>

She had lost it. Yes, it was our pure as a flower's scent, sweet Sammie who had completely lost it...

Long nights had been a tale as common as Clover's fairy tale anniversary, two days ago at W.O.O.H.P, and all of its best agents were hard at work. Men in dapper, crisp suits buzzed through the hallways against blinding sea-blue walls- which had a certain intimidation almost as intimidating as Jerry had been the past few days. Monotonous office lights hummed in a chorus made of boredom.

Tim breathed heavily; his head down and his neck moaning in stiff pain. How could he have been the only one condemned to do a majority of paperwork when it wasn't even one of his specialities? Additionally, he wasn't even allowed any mobile devices as he worked to the bone because as Jerry put it, it somehow 'jeopardised the integrity of W.O.O.H.P's finest agents', whatever that meant.

"I'm so sorry Sammie," Scam blurted aloud. "I can't even call or message you; nothing!"

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><p>Hastily, Sam aggressively popped the cork of her glistening hard cider bottle as a dragged sigh escaped the corner of her mouth. Tim had assured her countlessly that he would be back before midnight, yet there was still no sigh of him when the clock struck one. This had happened every night like on an endless recorder; only this recorder recounted Sam's miserable monotony.<p>

"Tim," she hoarsely groaned, vexation obvious in her tone. "It's about one and I'm alone. You swore that you'd join me for dinner! Well, now it's cold. Have fun having date night with your fruitless paperwork."

The bleep of her voicemail on her phone confirmed the end of Sam's message to her partner. Even though it had only been six months of cuddling and sweet nothings, Sam profoundly knew that Tim was her soul mate. She felt it in her bones; she felt it in her blood; she felt it in her heart. However, she hadn't been feeling anything lately; the intoxicating alcohol numbed any sense of emotion inside of her. Some might've chosen wine as their poison, but not Ms Simpson. According to her, wine was the blossoming fruit of love, whereas hard cider was the withering symbol of neglect. So it flawlessly fitted.

It was the last drop of the bottle when the redhead's vision went ridiculously blurry.

"BOOM!" The clamour of sound alerted her that she had bumped into the wall, but it was already too late. An absurd, raucous laugh filled the chic living room and rang throughout; it was the only sound the house ever heard. Sam tried to get up but helplessly fell flat on her face. Laughter was heard again. Then, she not only crashed into their Art Nouveau-inspired sculpture, (which Tim and Sam bought after giggling at it for what seemed like hours on a break to Paris, outside an endearingly stunning boutique) she then continued her destructive path toward a copy of Munch's The Scream- the exact canvas size in all its glory.

Whilst Sam swayed her hips in hopes of ending up in a passively seductive position, (it really wasn't at all) she began in a drunken babble, "What big eyes you've got, Mr...urm...Mr Scream!"

"Not the talkative type, hey," Sammy slurred after a moment. "That's okay, I know you're just playing hard-to-get!"

Her voice shrieked with delight -somewhat resembling her four year old cousin when she had an insufferable sugar rush- as she figured out why the oil painting didn't reply to her nonsensical remarks. The elbow she heavily leaned on against the canvas must have whined in pain as she winced a little. Carrying on her way up the empty room, it was as if someone hit the 'play' button on a DVR while watching her humorously idiotic movement. Arms flew everywhere in trepidation of switching on the glamorous spot lights; beads of sweat poured silently into her now stinging eyes, and her body elected to bestow upon her imperial blue and raging red bruises. What a night it had been.

The next thing she noticed (in her not very observant vision) was the door cricking open as she snapped her head in its way. Somehow, that was the only fluidity she could muster within her movement, yet it was still a small victory. A looming shadow fell upon her small fame and in that moment, she felt smaller than ever. Fury didn't course through her veins anymore, nor did pain; only delirious happiness -which she knew she'd be very sorry for later.

"Hellooo," she cheerfully cried in her baby-blue night gown. "Do you mind if...if...if... I could maybe, like, flash a torch into your face because all I see is darkness?"

The weightless form seemed to nod oddly as it took a step closer. Suddenly, Sam felt a warm, tingling sensation against her cheek. Yanking away, the brain of the temporarily clueless redhead began ticking. Deep down, she knew that that intruder was not wanted in her penthouse. Only, she didn't quite know why.

"Sammy," the silky voice of a man started. "I'm so sorry I never was able to..."

"Is that you, Mr Scream," Sam absentmindedly cut in, talking louder than needed. "I did look for a microphone so that I could hear you speaking, but I think... I think that it's for me to remember that I forgot Timmy and I don't have one."

_She had lost it._

Tim stood there, unearthly gobsmacked. What the hell was his Sammie playing at?

"Samantha," he inquired, smirking and figuratively regaining his dropped jaw. "Don't go all juxtaposed literacy on me, please, I've had an incredibly tough night at the office."

He smirked like a cat did when it knew its dinner was a paw away and an easy target because he had thought he'd figured out her little, amusing mind trick. Unfortunately for him (or fortunately, in someone else's opinion), he hadn't smelt the

brutal beverage on the tip of her tongue.

Staring, baffled by his question -as if she had asked to magically invent a time machine on the spot- she slowly attempted to understand the flowing words like a toddler being told off for putting glue on the caring teacher's chair. Nonetheless, none of it clicked.

"I can't... I won't," a stammering Sammy mumbled. "You can take the microphone, just leave me alone!"

Quickly, Tim had made up in his mind that he better go inside and sincerely talk to his long time girlfriend before the neighbours called Beverly Hills' cops. But, actually getting through the threshold of their exquisite, grand door was another problem. She just wouldn't budge. Although Scam had his jaunty suspicions, he still soothingly tried to coaxed his baby into moving. None of it worked. So, he did the only rational thing to do at one-thirty at night; he all too easily picked Ms Simpson up in one, quick swoop and carried her lovingly to their three retro red seater near the superlative flat screen TV. That is when he smelt it...

"Woah," Scam hollered, chuckling more to himself than anyone else. "Now, what have you been up to, Missy?"

With twinkling, curious jade eyes, Samantha couldn't tell the difference between an exclamation mark and a question. The complexity of it seemed to send fathomless neurones to her face and it answered by tugging a simple smile of weak knowledge on her lips.

"Oh Sammie," Tim's eyes softened at the sight of her adorable smile. "I'm so sorry that I wasn't with you... But, then again, I can't tell if you're cuter in sobriety or inebriation."

The light snoring noise from the redhead told him that she fast asleep since his arms had cradled her into a delicious slumber. Endless teasing was how she was going to pay for breaking lamps, vases, and shattered, vibrant bottles of cider the following day, but he truly didn't mind her breaking them.

A smug look played on his face as he mused how comically crazy a drunk Samantha was capable of, "Don't worry, I'll never leave you like this again, without me. Instead, I'll make sure I come home so we can get drunk _together_..."


	2. By The Sea

**This one is my favourite one shot so far! Please read and review because I'll be loving you forever! Btw, as you can see, the first letter of each fanfic in this collection starts with the next letter in the alphabet; hence its name! Enjoy! Xoxo -CPTC**

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><p><strong>By the Sea<strong>

The elongated, sand-covered wall was the only divider between them and the beach, against crashing waves - coming and going as they pleased. It had its own very rustic charm as crumbling pieces seemed to be purposely placed. Thankfully, the wall was between them and the sea, or else Sam and Tim would be very drenched, indeed.

Soft ginger hair was gently lifted in the sky, almost as if the wind's hands had elected to pick up a dozen cardinal flowers. Champagne frizzed and bubbled in two crystallised flutes; one in slender, jewellery-adorned hands, and the other, next to a masculine torso. Although it had been quite a chilly night, Sam insisted stubbornly to wear the new satin, night-black beach dress (yes, it was bestowed upon her by her not-quite, on-and-off partner).

Scam was only less than an inch away from her- both staring pensively into an oblivion of nothingness, wondering, 'If only?' It didn't matter if they hadn't muttered a word because the silence wasn't awkward. It was sort of... idyllic.

"The only thing that could've toped this significant moment in my life," Samantha thought longingly, "is if he had the courage to risk intwining his hand in mine..."

But, it was too perilous, with W.O.O.H.P on a crazed man hunt after the two lovers, out of spite and rage. That was the price to pay for being in love with a super villain, yearning world domination. Especially one who always seemed to be too busy with the super lame L.A.M.O.S' conspiracies. Even though Terrance Lewis was the so called 'mastermind' behind the group, (and its terribly laughable name, as we all surely remember) Jerry's brother had done nothing; it was all Sammie's Timmy: fixing major leaks in that damned submarine; it was all Tim, planning each and every escape plan for each time one of the L.A.M.O.S got arrest; it was all Tim, creating beautiful weapons for evil; it was all Tim.

He was so close, yet so far...

Accidentally, the super villain had moved his hand too fast which caught his girlfriend's sudden attention. Everything had been so undisturbed. It was like a silent devotion the sea and the stars had given the lovebirds. Only the wind whispered in their ears wisps of sweet nothings. That is when the spark happened. A collision of toasty hands clumsily crashing into each other, as if the universe approved of their ardent affection for each other. So, electricity flowed throughout their limps and bodies- it electrocuting all hateful feelings of each other's flaws.

"Urh, sorry about that-" Tim muttered in a jittery manner.

"Oh no, that's okay," Ms Simpson timidly responded, blushing a little. "Just look at sky... It looks like someone painted its magnificent stars; it reminds of a-"

"-poem," her boyfriend breathed, lovestruck. "By T.S Eliot."

"OMG! Yes," his girlfriend shrieked exuberantly.

In an invitingly husky tone, Tim started reciting the poem they both instantaneously knew,

_**"Let us go then, you and I,**_

_**When the evening is spread out against the sky**_

_**Like a patient etherized upon a table;**_

_**Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,**_

_**The muttering retreats..."**_

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><p>Suddenly, a tenderly tuned voice of a woman followed Scam's fluid words, reciting it as if it was their second language. One would guess it was, in a way.<p>

_**"Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels**_

_**And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:**_

_**Streets that follow like a tedious argument**_

_**Of insidious intent**_

_**To lead you to an overwhelming question…**_

_**Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"**_

_**Let us go and make our visit..."**_

They stared so fixedly at each other's eyes, the intensity could have emerge rated heat, if they wanted to.

"Do you want to go swimming," Ms Simpson's question quavered whilst uncertainty murdered her thoughts.

Sparkling, Tim's eyes glinted with amusement as if his vision somehow illuminated light, like a ludicrous magic trick. To be honest, no one would be surprised if Samantha thought so.

"I'd-', his sentence filled with admiration for the redhead sitting next to him (side-by-side) was cut short by the intrusive ringing of a phone...

"I can't stay and swim, Sammy," Scam unwillingly sighed in exasperation. "I've to take this phone call ASAP."

It had felt like a razor sharp knife had just severed her delicate torso into a million shreds. It was so proudly deep, the wounds. Sam knew that Tim was brashfull witty, stubborn, smirking lawbreaker; - which is probably what attracted her the most to him in the first place- however, it was nice to know what he actually loved her if he just wasn't so hard to squeeze emotions out of.

As her hand fell into her purse, the ginger-haired girl watched her lover disappear into the shadows conjured by benevolently swaying palm trees. Finally, after a few panic-filled minutes minutes passed, of worrying that she'd somehow lost her phone, Sam dialled a number she knew all too well.

Clover's naturally zealous voice echoed throughout the seaside in the late hours of the particularly enchanting evening, "Hi Sam, you making babies with Tim yet!?"

Sammie exclaimed in utter embarrassment, "Clover! Way to kill the peaceful romance!"

"What, I seriously want a niece, yeesh," Clover countered defensively, with a touch of light laughter afterwards. "Don't worry, Jer is still clueless about where you guys are, but seriously, lying to that old goat gets harder by the minute!"

Biting her lip in hopes of stifling a thunderstorm of giggles, Sam answered, "Thanks Clover, I really needed you guys' help. Now, if only I could get help on this date..."

"Awwww... I'm sorry Sammie! Oh, and Alex says 'Hi', but she's at soccer practice right now, sigh. But hey, there's this guy who works at the smoothie section of our mall and can you say CAH-UTE much?"

Piercing even the underwater creatures of the night's ears, Ms Simpson effusively cried, "Clover!"

"Okay, sorry! See, that's what I get for helping! But, I'm pretty sure he has a thing for redheads...hmmmm...", the blonde was clearly lost in her boy-obsessed thoughts.

Shouting broke the silence of Sammy's conversation to her bestie. Tim was heading back to the chipped, stone wall. Alas, he sounded as if he had walked on stones boiled by hell itself and looked like someone sacrilegiously ignited a fire within his body. Although Scam's face was calm and somehow soothed-looking, (like when a mother hushes its newly born infant) his figure looked tensely rigid.

Sam bid her goodbye to her blonde bestie, "Oh, sorry Clo. Gotta go. See ya!"

"What's wrong, Timmy," Sam cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. "Are you okay?"

Tim took some time to pick his words which was odd for a more-than-capably intelligent man, "Honey, I want to make things right. That was Terrence on the phone. Anyway, you shouldn't have to be in the dark all the time from Jerry and W.O.O.H.P and... Well... See...I left the L.A.M.O.S because I don't need that life anymore; it drains me, you and us. I mean," Scam stumbled countlessly with his words, "_I need you_."

Shutting him well up, Samantha Simpson planted a fervent kiss upon perfect shaped lips which spoke a million words a minute, "_I love you_, you big idiot...my big idiot."

Tim couldn't help but simper, "Am I'm the idiot how when I'm not the one chasing guys who work at the smoothie section of the mall, who one of your best friends calls 'CAH-UTE'?"

Rapidly, Sam felt her cheeks reddening into a deep blush as Tim mocked Clover's eye-roll provoking babble, using various hand gestures, making his girlfriend raucously giggle. Subsequent to that, Sammie's partner picked up his girlfriend and delicately pushed her onto the top of the wall- holding her very tight. He never wanted to let go. Impassioned kissing and embraces were the next movement they both desperately needed in their lives.

That was the first time Sam had ever loved the sea so much as it symbolised their secretly intimate devotion. Thus, she had made a promise to herself to take their kids to that exact wall and tell them their true love story, everything.


	3. Christmas with The Scams

**Hi you all! Thank you so much for the kind words and wonderful advice. I know, I'm incredibly late, but the idea of this one came to me on Christmas Day! XD Also, I've really tried to work on my dialogue, so please, please, PLEASE review. I love your advice! Xoxo -CPTC**

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><p><strong>Christmas with The Scams<strong>

Euphoria.

That was the only word in any universal dictionary which conveyed what the Simpson-Scam household buzzed with. Christmas had come sooner than expected and it was the first time Sam not-so-cleverly elected to throw a festive extravaganza — especially because one of Sam's best friend's baby was due on January 7th. Although the baby was going to be a girl, Tim had carefully coaxed the redhead into incorporating royal gold and imperial red into the baby presents they had thoughtfully gotten and made. After all, I'm sure that two of the globe's top spies were more than capable of following D.I.Y baby crib instructions. Or at least tried to.

It was 10am, Christmas Day and oh boy did Sammy and Timmy have their work cut out for them. Who knew a paper booklet could give them such a headache in such little time?

"_5. Attach the stationary railing; use copping saw and insert one dowel through the head and footboards by sliding them through the holes in the latch brackets_," Scam cocked an eyebrow, obviously perplexed by the nonsensical instructions. "Ironic, we're making your best friend's house 'baby friendly' with some not-so friendly instructions."

Sam breathed, extreme exasperation evident by the gesture, "We've been doing this for almost an hour and I still can't tell if this is a drawing of the post, or the nails!"

Smirking like an outrageous Cheshire Cat, Tim aloofly replied, "Funny how this damn thing comes with so many nails, yet it only takes one screw to fill it."

"It's like a kid drew these..." Ms Simpson halted, wide-eyed as she slowly understood what Tim had just said. "You're such a tool!"

"Well, I am pretty handy, darlin'," her fiancé smoothly remarked, with a devilishly cheeky wink. "If you know what I mean."

Instantaneously, Sammie rolled her eyes without missing a beat. Scam only smirked harder. In a way, Tim's fiancée hoped that when their significant time came, (filled with boldly-coloured, as slippery as cuddly plastic toys, gallons of Johnson's baby shampoo; exotic oils; milky lotions, and bountiful bibs) her partner would show more interest in their little, stumbling procreation. Images of a neglectful Tim endlessly swirled and clogged Sam's head, giving her a headache as colossal as a hair-raising thunderstorm.

"Well you're not being very handy now," she chided him teasingly, then worriedly winced whilst a pang of pain travelled through her neck to the top of her head. "Urh..."

Immediate concern etched on her husband-to-be's face, "Hey, hey honey, you okay? Go lay down; I can finish up Clover's crib if you want?" He was still holding a hammer when he'd asked her. "How adorable," she thought even though affliction coursed through her veins.

The moment when she nodded, Scam knew she must've been in immense pain because usually, she was a brave girl; that's what attracted him to her in the first place...

Hysteria.

The scattering moment of realisation hit Sam in the stomach so forcefully, she sat up, blinded in their three story Beverly Hills mansion. How long had she'd fallen asleep? What time was it? Where was Tim? All of these questions drove her into a bigger state of agonising anxiety. And wait, didn't Sam have a party to set up for?

"OH. MY. GOD. The party," she blurted out, still suffering from the fragments of her earlier migraine — so powerful, it could have supplied energy to a power station if it wanted to. "The food! The decorations! The guests! TIMMMM!"

Feet scurried across their newly fitted mahogany flooring, "Sammie, I'm here! It's okay, I got the decorations and guest list covered, but the food... Not so much."

Although Scam wasn't exactly a harden killing machine nowadays and was wearing socks, he somehow didn't fall as he skidded in light-grey furry abominations until he caught the doorframe. Catching his breath, Tim smiled. Rationally, the emerald-eyed girl was way off base to throw a party in only five hours time, inviting over fifty guests and with the food still bloody raw. Alas, craziness is strangely attractive.

"I have to base the turkey...and start on the cranberry stuffing and...and...", Ms Simpson's words came out like a train meeting the tracks head-first; she was a bit of an early wake-up mess.

"And you're absolutely bonkers," her partner sniggered in a chucklesome manner, absolutely amused. "I mean... I can try and...help? Did you leave the turkey to...urm...fester or something?"

Yes, Scam was more than perfectly able to manage the lonely parts of his dispersed life -without having a mother or father to guide him into the jaws of adulthood- but he was never properly taught all those things so special under a nurturing touch: sewing, cooking, and little dainty crafts you generally find on Pinterest.

The best he could herein do was tend to his own medical messes, teach himself advance knowledge of chemical compounds and reactions, and effortlessly deactivate a bomb in seven seconds flat (his best record, as he was that proud to actually keep one). All these things were paramount regarding survival — and pretty impressive in its entirety; however, retiring from super villain to super hero (well, at least Sammy's) didn't require such peculiar skills. Low key was synonymous to the life he had now chosen; a life with the one who even the universe agreed with for him.

"Marinate," the redhead corrected boastfully, completely head over heels for his secret goofiness only she saw. "And if you mean the turkey, it'd be disastrous. I have to roast it, honey!"

Mayhem.

Making her cringe, slow and sloppy hands had touched Sam's precious festive turkey, not having the finesse of any michelin star chef she could think of on her feet. With that being said, the green-eyed girl wasn't too much of a cook herself back when she was a freshmen in Bev High — with Clover accurately accusing her of not being able to cook. So, she'd come a long way.

"Step aside," Samantha said, using her 'on-duty voice'. "And watch and learn."

Tim scratched his head like a little boy does when he doesn't know which piece of candy to choose, "Wow, you are good."

Hands lovingly slathered creamy, golden butter onto the turkey as if it were massaging a valued costumer loaded with cash signs. A mouth watered watching Samantha painstakingly rub the dead animal. Although she hadn't even put the darn thing in the oven, gaping in awe as Tim watched, he felt a unmistakable rumble in his stomach. Grains of baby-pink and Isabelline white (otherwise known as Himalayan salt) flew across sea foam-green eyes; a peppery aroma somehow forming by itself, still in an raw, uncooked state.

Scam murmured in astonishment, "That was sexy..."

It was as if Sam's ears had jumped out and perked as she heard the words clearly from her fiancé's mouth, "Who? Me or the turkey because I don't think 'Turkey Scam' sounds as good as 'Samantha Scam'."

Laughter rang throughout the exclusively huge kitchen. The moment they (as a couple) set eyes on the place, Sammie knew it felt right; it was the place they'd have parties and make family moments and teach their future children the rules of life itself. Everything happened so fast; Sam had grabbed the lease of the mansion as if a hungry tiger had possessed her and Tim didn't even know what had happened. All he knew was that the exclusively huge kitchen -which was now theirs- unforeseeably had an 'exclusive' entrance to his limited bank account, sadly.

"Well, you certainly seem better than before," Scam stated, chortling.

A hint of eccentricity tugged at the corners of Samatha's mouth. Even though she really was finished seasoning her ceremonious bird, she still pretended that she was busy by moving her hands in vague, lazy paths across the bald game.

Walking to the oven felt like years to Sam, long and tiresome years. Luckily, her handy, handsome fiancé had pre-heated the oven as she slept off her neuralgia. At least he was able to do one thing right.

"Sammie," Caught in his ponder, Tim uttered leisurely. "I love you."

A kiss was the only fittingly flawless response from his ginger-haired fiancée and my goodness, did she look unbearably beautiful in the golden rays of the rushing afternoon light, playing with her hair — as if it were a playground for the youth. The kiss only deepened. Although both of them needed air, yet none of them broke off the gesture of affection. The previously stone-cold island table was briskly warmed up into a toasty, sleek layer of granite (silky against their skin).

Slender hands and wrists moved in a fluid move in a hurry to embrace the man so close to her body, her chest, her heart. He tugged lightly on her hair, left wordless by how soft it felt to his touch. It'd be a cold day in hell when he'll be stultified and left numb by her solace.

Hiatus.

Momentarily, the tune of "Feeling Good" by Nina Simone resonated throughout the ground floor. Both of Sam and Tim's heads snapped, with their attention clearly caught. The couple not only were incredibly intelligent, lionised leaders, they shared an avid passion for jazz and blues.

"Hey Sammy," a keen voice trilled, coming from the pipes of a hazel-eyed girl. "Alex Vasquez here, ready for action!"

Loud tittering of Alex laughing at her own little joke was muffled behind the solid, French door. Sam gasped whilst attempting to compose herself. They hadn't realised that they'd spent a good two hours immersed in so intimately touching and messing about with each other. And that was two hours too late to firstly, take out the turkey and secondly, make the stuffing.

"Hi Alex," her red-haired friend literally dashed to the door, fumbling with the door knob and the strap which had slipped half-off her shoulder — with many thanks to her partner who surprisingly didn't come ogling after her. "I need help with EVERYTHING!"

Alex's round, brown eyes squeezed into a pitiful face, "Awwww, I'm sure it can't be that bad!"

Biting her lip, Samantha nervously suggested, "Hmmmm, Let's check then."

Although Alex had been in Sam's new house a bunch of times, she still couldn't tell which hallway and staircase to take, so she thereafter referred to the mansion as 'the maze'. Leading her through what seemed like a billion different rooms, (all elegantly decorated, just like her best friend) Alex's nose reluctantly caught a swift of something horribly unpleasant. To her, it'd smelt like something was seeking the attention of the cook and was in dire need of saving. I guess Sammy hadn't come as far as we thought.

On the table, something akin to a dead, unclassifiable animal (which could be considered as road kill) sat, withered and blacken compared to its original state.

The famous proverb of hoping that it tasted better than it looked couldn't be applied either.

A bite and Alex wanted to spit it out immediately, giving a half hearted smile in hopes of not hurting her friend's already torn pride,"Let's just order pizza, Sammie!"

Sam agreed as she took a piece of turkey of the bone to judge for herself, "But...I failed, I failed in actually succeeding and cooking a proper, edible meal."

"You didn't," Alex pointedly stated. "Look, the decorations are lovely!"

Sighing, Sam held her head down, "Yeah, and Tim did all of that, not me."

The only thing Alex could think of in terms of making the redhead feel better was a big, old hug which is exactly what she decided to do. Deep down, Sam knew that it was a better to call the nearest Pizza Hut and ask if they could deliver ten cheese, ten veggie, ten aloha chicken, ten BBQ and ten chicken pepperoni; all large and thin-crusted.

Sudden certainty and confidence made Ms Simpson hold her head up high again, "Alright, Alex, can you call Pizza Hut please and ask for an ASAP delivery at exactly 6pm? I think I can ask Nobu and order the Rock Shrimp Tempura with Creamy Spicy Sauce for starters since we're having a non-traditional Christmas dinner."

"Right," Alex motioned, beaming at the newfound conviction Sam's voice possessed. However, that newfound conviction is what exactly lead the brown-eyed girl to rummaging through magazine piles -almost as high as the vintage bookshelf which lived in each room- and looking for that darn ten digit phone number which would either be the hero or villain of The Scams' first Christmas party.

Overdrive.

It was now 4pm and the clock literally and metaphorically ticked. Apparently, Nobu refused to deliver on Christmas Day as it was "too maj a thing to actually like handle" as the snobby, ironically ostentatious maître d' had put it. Thus, Tim kindly delegated the role of 'food deliverer' upon himself. He'd been gone for about half an hour and still nothing. That was probably one of the cons of living in the secluded part of Beverly Hills.

Busy, busy, busy was the word of the day. With this, Sam didn't want to put any ounce of pressure whatsoever on Clover because the worst thing that could top this is if (touch wood) her blonde best friend gave birth to her daughter god knows where in The Scams' newly refurbished villa.

Last touches emulating perfection still hadn't been touched; an abnormal holiday menu still hadn't arrived, and whilst Sam had a mini heart attack earlier when setting up the crib, her partner accidentally invited even more guests than planned. So not only were there going to be a whole streets-worth of people, it was as if the entire country had decided to make a presence —which only meant more work for clueless Mrs Scam-to-be.

Alex's ringtone made her jump like a stray alley cat, goosebumps forming on her sweat-soaked skin. "Hello, this is Alex," her quivering voice spoke. "Oh, Tim, thank goodness…yes, I've sorted it out. The pizzas should arrive at, urm…5:55pm. I asked…yup, Pizza Hut. I managed to order…and ten large Chicken Pepperoni.

How's Sammy? Well, she's…yes. Okay, see you soon then… yeah, she's a bit bonkers…bye!"

Running from the lusciously evergreen, outside patio, with gold tinsel which had those mini snowflakes which made you go, 'awww' in a moment of nostalgia in her hand, Samantha had heard the last part of Alex's conversation to Scam.

"Alex, is he okay," she causally asked, acting more calm and collected compared to her earlier outburst. "Is he on his way?"

A nodding Alex smiled knowingly, tingling with the glory of helping a friend in need. That glory only to be punctured by the next sound. "RING-RING-RING-" went a shrilling phone, the emerald-eyed owner of it jittered and nervously edged toward it—as if the phone miraculously conjured a symphony of spitfire.

"You really gotta get a new ring tone, Sammie," the hazel-eyed girl in front of her advised.

The feeling of impending doom and butterflies weightlessly fluttered in the girls' stomachs.

Sam chewed her nail like a squirrel chews a nut, her heartbeat as fast as the micro seconds past, "Hello…oh, hi mom! We're nearly there. I mean, it's going better than in the morning…WHAT!? The guests are on their way? Wait, WHERE? That's only a few moments away…yes, I know the time!

For the second time that day, Nina Simone's "Feeling Good" played and Ms Simpson made a quick mental note that she had better change her already piercing ringtone. Maybe the doorbell had persuaded her to more than Alex did.

Even though Sam and Alex were without a doubt flustered, they somehow mustered up all of their non-existent energy and beamed — eyes twinkling with electric-like gleefulness. The French door to The Scams' house seemed more intimidating than ever.

"Welcome to my…Tim!" the emerald-eyed girl exclaimed. Shock was written all over her face. "Oh my god, you got them!"

Tim's fiancée had probably hugged the wind out of him, but he didn't mind too much. In both muscular hands hand two crisp, white plastic bags. They were so white, it was as if they'd been to see Bev Hills' notoriously infamous dentist and had been whitened.

"My hero," Sam ecstatically greeted him. "Now, help me set up please."

Had she really just called him her hero? One could guess that he got the inference since a sheer smirk crept up onto his face like how Scam used to play hide-and-seek with his younger sister. His mocking smile said it all.

So, Tim went to set up the living room as Sam stubbornly said that she still had to 'make herself beautiful upstairs' to which her partner responded by shaking his head.

Silence. Sheer silence was music to Sam's ears. That was minus the irritable clanking of Scam's careless hands downstairs, yet his fiancé didn't mind.

Meanwhile, Alex went to collect the ten humongous pizzas because a) she didn't have anything else to do before the party and b) the pizza delivery boy had managed to crave heart-shaped eyes, replacing Alex's naturally hazel ones.

That this when the first knock happened.

Mayhem.

People quickly filled and flooded the open room, more lively than one had ever seen. Babble and chatter marvellously whirled, creating the most pleasant atmosphere within the house. Their home finally felt like a home; a proper one. Relatives, friends, or just people who were friends of friends attended. I mean, who wouldn't when the decorations were, in one, cohesive word, fabulous. Tim had always surprised her with his hidden talents and did yet again on that Christmas night.

In the meantime, Alex had gotten back and proudly exclaimed that she held all 50 large pizzas, getting the cute delivery boy to help her out with cutting them. It was a crucial tool to fake vulnerability.

"Nathan Joshua Scam," Tim's sister-in-law started, vexation coating her typically sugary accent. "GET OFF THE COFFEE TABLE!"

The audience consisting of family friends and a dichotomy of people threw their heads back in laughter. Music known all too well was nothing compared to the sound of epitomised elation. Flutes of champagne; crystal glasses of deep red and dry white wine; sparkling water all seemed to never stop flowing out of bottles. Ultimately, it was like a beacon of harmony and exuberance. Money was no object that night full of ludicrous.

But that laughter was short-changed by a transparently grandiloquent, busty woman who came pushing and shoving through the crowd just to talk to the hostess herself -Tim seemed more than busy catching up with old W.O.O.H.P agents at their makeshift bar- and Sammie exchanged an agonised look across the floor to her fiancé, and then Alex. She looked like a gazelle who'd been hit in her feebly frail legs.

"Samantha, Darling," the white-haired woman cooed, her outfit and hair looking as if she was a 21st century reincarnation of Marie Antoinette. "It's been so long!"

Big, jewellery-adorn arms sprung out of the air, almost trapping the ginger-head like when cheese baits a simple-minded mouse into its inevitable death. The feeling of impending doom rumbled in the pit of Sammy's stomach.

"I don't even know her," a humbly smiling hostess mumbled to her best friend next to her. "Yes, so long!"

Unfortunately, Sam knew she had to obliged and give into this strange, French 16th century-loving snob. Why did it have to be her to end up with the oddballs? Sashaying glamorously, (oh how Clover would've been so proud) trying not to bump into more lunatics who'd invited themselves to her now not-so-private celebration, Sam made Alex giggle uncontrollably at how weird her best friend looked. Why was Sam always the one condemned to the loonies?

With surprising and admirable ease, Ms Simpson plastered a fake smile upon her face, "It's so lovely that you decided to come Ms... Ms..."

"Lady Edith of the British Isles," an ear piercing tone cut the redhead off. "It's been so long, as I said. You're all grown up now, throwing parties as grand as Bel Air and as quirky as you were when you were a toddler."

Before Sam could state anything else, or catch a breath, Lady Edith of the British Isles (who Scam's partner highly suspected as a full-on lunatic now) did more talking which could have been enough for the both of them, "How are things, Samantha? Oh, how's your love life, because it seems as if you've got quite a catch. And how about your job?"

The hostess was baffled by the now overstepping, nosy and bizarre beast looming over her, sending shivers down her spine when she winked as she said that Sam had gotten herself '_quite a catch_'.

Sam only questioned one part of Mrs Lady Edith of Las Vegas (at this point, Tim's fiancée personally didn't care anymore) which was the part she feared the most, "My job?"

Years ago -when they first started seeing each other- Tim and Sam arranged to make a special signal between the two if they were ever in trouble, in a dire life or death situation, or just put simply, awkward circumstances. And this was definitely an awkward one.

Whispering into a distant family relative as he past by the redhead and Lady Edith of Lalaland, (who Sam had never seen before) she had asked if that relative could kindly send her message to her a partner looking very dapper in a plum dress shirt -it went very well with Sam's attire and brought out Tim's sea-foam eyes- by softly saying the letters "S.O.S" in his ear. Cleverly, Sam had chosen a suitable candidate to complete her saving grace; there were too many beautiful, attractive women in the room whom had the capability to cajole and give Scam many of their ideas on weddings and cold feet if they had an excuse to swoon and drool on her man.

It was only a few seconds later, and Tim had politely excused himself from his peers to go save his damsel in distress (not that she was incapable or anything) from Lady Busybody of the loony bin.

Lady Blah Blah of snooty world was more than delighted to stretch out a flabby arm to the man who she had previously called 'quite a catch', "Lady Edith of the British Isles, family friend of The Simpsons."

Sam swore that for a split second she saw Tim, deadpanned, "Mrs Edith—"

The extraordinary woman pursed her dry, lipstick-loaded lips, "Lady!"

"Yes, sorry, Lady Edith," Scam self-correct whilst slightly shaking. "Was there a question you wanted to ask my wife?"

First of all, Sam had never seen Tim sweat like a little boy being told off by the parents of the girl he just clumsily snogged. So, she stood there, stifling a wholesome cackle. Subsequently, had he just called her his wife?

Staring daggers at Samantha, Lady Crazy continued in a bittersweet accent, "Yes, I wanted to ask how Samantha's job was going and if perhaps Gaby was going to have some grand kids anytime soon and—"

Tim swiftly cut through Lady Eccentric's soliloquy like a severing knife, giving The Scams more than what was considered as an earful, "Samantha and I have been privileged enough to be able to fulfil our lifelong dream of being super spie—"

"Super hotel managers," a death glaring Sam yelled, just in time before her partner tragically revealed their actual jobs. This was exactly what anyone didn't want happening. Perhaps he had had too much of wine.

"Let's go check on the turkey!" Ms Simpson suggested, a fake, plastered smile playing upon her lips.

"We don't have a turkey anymore, honey," Scam pointed out, then engaging in a silent argument with the redhead—using only exaggerated expressions and going through the whole spectrum of them.

"Well, see ya!" Sam and Tim remarked simultaneously, half walking, half running away from the pretentiously no good busybody. Luckily, they had agreed on one thing; they had to move quickly.

"Phew," Tim said, holding Sam's waist protectively in his strong arms when they reached an area clear of crazies. "That was close."

Sam nodded, too out of breath to talk, "Too close."

The next thing for the hosts to do in order to recover from the previously traumatic event was to go back to where they were originally being exceptionally sociable.

That was when a heavily pregnant woman stepped through the mistletoe-adorned door, obviously made uncomfortable by the crowd of bustling people inside. Strawberry-blonde hair fell over her shoulders and wore an ultra cute, chiffon rose flutter sleeve wrap dress embracing her curves. Even though her hair was kept in a length slightly longer than her normal bob, her hair was still unmatchably straight and bouncy.

"Clover!" Alex and Sam shrieked, running up to the blonde like little children on a sugar high. In all honesty, they wanted to hug the baby first before actually paying attention to the baby's mother. It was all so exciting.

However, the best friends' little reunion was interrupted by a gentleman who usually wore a bland suit. Goodness only knows why he had chosen to wear that particular garment. Bright, blinding red and gruesome green -the shade which said, 'Look at me, I'm desperate.'- made up the Christmas atrocity. Moreover, make up of the intricate stitching were small festive stars, snowmen and Rudolph, the reindeer. Rudolph's red nose hung, bewildered and unwillingly (which looked like the effects of a hound using it as a chew toy) against the grey-haired man's non-existent beer gut.

"Hello ladies," Jerry politely greeted his favourite former agents — except for green-eyed hostess who was still one. "Amazing Party, Samantha"

"Thanks Jer," Ms Simpson said, huffing in attempts of removing the strand of hair off her face. Her hair had given a new term to the 'messy bun' and she still was wearing her simple apron which said 'kiss the cook'. Under that, Sammy wore a crocheted eminence purple Peter Pan collar dress (with a cream faux leather belt) which brought out her illuminating eyes and hugged her figure like how her niece had clung to her as a greeting earlier at the party.

Alex enthusiastically interjected, "Woah, you weren't kidding when you said you'd bring the cheesy table cloth."

A truly deflated Jerry wearily answered, "This is my jumper my mother made me..."

All three girls went wide-eyed as they were gobsmacked (in true anime fashion). Then the unison of giggles followed. Out of all of their Jerry/ super spy moments, this one was by far their favourite. In retrospect, Clover and Alex missed Jerry's 'Jerry-ness'; long lectures about J.O.E (Jolly Old England) and properness were long ago forsaken.

Hysteria.

The two girls lead their best friend into a back hallway which was closed off to the party. It was about 9pm according to Alex's watch as she glanced at it. The two girls covered Clover's eyes, one hand on each of them. Eventually, they revealed the Parisian-inspired surprise to their pregnant best friend...

"Oh my god, you guys!" Clover shrieked in excitement. "Mono baby cuteness overload, and you did this!?"

"I love it, I love it, I LOVE IT!"

"The colour is just...oh, très divine and is that...Ollie, the stuffed turtle!?"

Sam and Alex only nodded in pure joy. They had tediously planned the nursery room in the Scams' villa since October, since the baby ought to be due sometime. It all had to be perfect. Especially because they were dealing with flawless Clover Ewing. Perhaps Sam and Alex were a smudge envious of the heartfelt touches they had so kindly added to the Parisian- inspired baby haven.

"I LOVE that touch too," Alex piped, universally becoming the new definition of the word 'zealous'. "

"Oh, BEST. FRIENDS. FOREVER," Sam and Alex chimed, radiating happiness and jumping up and down like two sugar-packed teenagers, but Clover only meekly said it which was slightly worrying. Yet, Clover's two best friends ignored her sudden paleness and kept dancing for delight (you could literally see the shiny sprinkles being thrown everywhere).

Mumbling, Clover breathed, "I feel it..." To which Alex replied, "Me too! Isn't it great!?"

Clover barely even caught the first syllable of what Alex's sentence consisted of, never mind the first word. The room felt like someone had stuffed them all in a sauna as they were celebrating the baby's new nursery. Flashes of Sam and Alex's faces flew past Clover's vision in hasty movement, yet she hadn't moved an inch. This couldn't be good...

"ARGGGHHHH! THE BABY'S COMING!" A screaming Clover hollered, confusion, trepidation, and excitement all clouding up her cry.

"WHAT!?" The pair of slim girls tentatively expressed.

The shouting was followed by more cries of revelation by Alex, "HOW ON EARTH IS THE BABY COMING!?

"YEAH, I THOUGHT YOU SAID SHE'S DUE ON THE 7TH?" Sam shouted back.

A now bashful Clover replied, "Well, hehe... See, I have this really chatty doctor and apparently he got my dates mixed up with another patient's, but I really wanted to come to your party Sammy and check out the place and I'd already RSVPed and well...you know?"

"Clover!" the girls shouted together. "When is the baby due then?"

Placing a hand on her bulging tummy, taking sharp, shallow breaths, "Huh? Oh, in like two days... Sorry guys."

Sam made a mad sprint to the en suite, marble bathroom, grabbing some midnight black towels, "Well, not anymore!"

"Oooooooooooooooooooooo-uch!"

Cramps radiated from the back of the blonde's spine to her belly. It was as if twisted veins had enraptured her and forced her to be their queen like the Black Knight had done when Clover was a freshman. Seizing, the blue-eyed girl complained in a whiny voice as she dug her sharp, pristinely manicured nails into the snow-powder white mattress her friends had laid her on.

"Breath, Clover," Samantha shouted. "You're going to be fine."

"Oooooooooooooooooooooo-uch!"

Alex effusively bit her nails, "That one was bigger, wasn't it?"

The blonde only had a nod left in her. Her best friends could only imagine the intense pain that she was going through. Clover's faced cringed and twisted into frowns of torture. It truly was like someone had stabbed her twice and then stepped on her lifeless body.

Alex and Sam only looked at each other, comforting their friend in labour was seriously demanding, "Can anyone help here!?"

"Clover, sweetie," Sam calmly stroked her hair. "I'm going to go and get help, okay?"

A massive and painful pang was left on Sam's arm while Clover harshly grabbed it, "No! Don't go! Don't leave me here to die!"

It was an octave no person thought was humanly possible to which Clover had discovered. It squeaked so high, it probably beat the Guinness Book of World records' highest achievement, easily.

"Oh, Clo," Sam made an effort to show her friend that she didn't really want to. "I have to, I have to for…"

Clover breathed, "Arabella."

Alex smiled, "Yes, for Arabella. All Sammie will do is run her little legs off and go call for help before you can say the word 'baby'!"

Finally, the blonde had let go of Sam's currently lobster-red arm.

Some time past. A curious crowd followed the cries of two high pitched voices and the hostess herself. That was all they needed. Even though the villa proved a challenge as infuriating as a rubix cube, the cries were so loud that it wasn't that difficult to go after them.

"It's okay," a shout of a man running to the nursery hollered. "I'm a doctor!"

It somehow seemed as if the whole party sighed in relief. What type of party had a woman giving birth on a bed in a mansion? The snobs turned away; the humble felt sympathetic, and the ordinary suddenly seemed extraordinary.

"I'm Dr Perry," the cornered, causal attire-loving man inquired. "What is this lady's name?"

"Clover Ewing."

"Alright, Ms Ewing," Dr Perry kept a tranquil tone, certain of his practice. "You're showing all the signs to push so after counting backwards from one to ten, I want you to push as hard as you can, young lady."

Clover's grunt was as good an answer as they were going to get. Pro tem, Tim was standing outside, both guarding and ushering the awe-struck audience away from the lavishly-adorn nursery.

"Oooooooooooooooooooooo-uch!"

"5, 4, 3, 2, 1, PUSH!"

"Okay, that's okay Ms Ewing. I just want you to try again, after 1."

Heavy heaving and tense faces of Alex, Sam, Clover and Dr Perry shushed the room into an apprehensive hush. No one else was in there. The crowd outside were going wild -it was almost like they were at a concert than a party, then again, this party crowd were just as crazy- when they desperately wanted to know what the heck was going on inside. Was it a successful delivery? What was Clover going to name the baby? Why had they taken so long?

"And PUSH!"

Jerry's frail voice echoed into the room, "Let me through Tim, please!"

Muffling and rattling followed afterwards.

"Jerry!" The two girls who were by the bedside table yelled in sophomoric voices. "Don't worry her, will you?"

Before Jerry had the time to answer in any way or form, the crying of a baby took the air and breaths of everyone in the room away.

Euphoria.

Clover held Arabella with the soft, midnight black towel. Although she was sweaty and bothered, she totally forgot. Everything in the universe seemed to stop whilst the sleeping baby in her arms yawned. Arabella was as soft as lace and Clover felt a feeling of tenderness which she hadn't felt in a long time (at least, not in that special way); love.

Eventually, Tim and the girls had to let every wondering pair of eyes in since people cared about the blonde deeply. Somehow, drinks were dispersed and started to flow freely again. Like it had been, something had stopped the world momentarily.

The newly-made mother caught her best ginger-headed friend confidentially whispered something into the ears of her fiancé. The guests were at an ease. That was thanks to the hosts sudden, well-developed skills of serenity. Alex and Jerry stayed by Clover's side and yes, it all was a tad weird at first, but it felt like home.

"What do you think Sammie is saying to Tim, Alex?" To be fair, it was a very valid question from her which was quietly asked.

Jerry butted in, "I think they're going to make a toast, Clover."

And my goodness, wasn't he correct…

Sam had handed a Greek stone stool to her partner. It made a wonderful makeshift podium. There was something akin to bliss written on her face as she hastily grabbed a glass of something or other. Although the room was obscenely packed, never once did anyone make any noise or complain. Tim was half surprised that Lady Crazy hadn't even said a peep.

Clearing his throat, Tim started the sincere toasting…

"I would like to make a toast on behalf of my wife-to-be and I and I'd like to thank family, friends and friends who are family for coming and making this place feel more like home to us. It's kinda like an approval to us to make more memories with the people in this room, right here. I'd also like to toast to Clover and Blaine's new baby girl, Arabella. May she never know that she was given birth to in here than a hospital. But I guess that's just _Christmas with The Scams_."


	4. Dine on Ashes

**Hi you lovely people out there who leave me great advice and reviews, here is the fourth chapter of Alphabets of Amour – this one's based on the wonderful **_Suzanne Vega's Tom's Diner _**and a bit more experimental, yet familiar to what I preferably write. Plus, the song means a lot to me. Please tell me what you think as per usual! It's basically a structurally deconstructed story, I think... Haha **

**Dine on Ashes**

_I am sitting_

_In the morning_

* * *

><p>His hair is laden with rays of silky gold, going at the same speed he runs. Cracks in the ash-fallen pavement invite him to a near unconsciousness, but he refuses to walk over them. There is no such thing as luck and jinxes, he tells himself. How could he believe in luck if it never revealed itself in the iciest of fondness?<p>

Luminous city light blinds his now colourless eyes; no glints of amusement twinkling within them. The fog doesn't help either in his mad dash to the diner where he'll meet her.

* * *

><p><em>At the diner<em>

_On the corner_

* * *

><p>Concealment was like a virus needing a body in order to survive. Samantha sits in concealment. Her quietness screaming for attention; her subtleness deteriorating her warmth; her happiness dying as death sets its eyes on everyone.<p>

Tears weightlessly drip down her face, but it doesn't even bother her anymore. Ironically, veils of light seep through the lacklustre trees against the soft patting of rain. It's as if the sullen cloudburst falls at a synced beat of her broken heart.

* * *

><p><em>I am waiting<br>_

_At the counter_

* * *

><p>It hits her. He hasn't bothered to show up. They both had reluctantly planned to meet up on the same day; that meant sharing the same air in the room, never mind about uttering wicked words or speaking.<p>

The hands on the clock sitting above her ticks away. Whilst each stroke passes, it reminds her of how she has sold her past, and equally, her remorseful future.

* * *

><p><em>And he fills it only halfway<em>

_And before I even argue_

* * *

><p>They were done arguing. Tim had tried to make things right, but no avail. Tiresome days of monotony sentences them into dark holes of emptiness, yet both of them are still able to yell and scream in each other's faces till they are red.<p>

Viewing the glass as half full or half empty wouldn't save their loathsome love; these musings swimming in Sam's head as the glum waitress refills her cup of black coffee.

* * *

><p><em>He is looking out the window<em>

_At somebody coming in_

* * *

><p>Therapy didn't work either, nonetheless they both attend separately on weekends; Saturday is her's, so Sunday is claimed as his.<p>

Endlessly, the doctor tries to make sense of their raging ramblings, always about one another, but nothing makes sense since they seem to love each other to care enough. Or at least loved each other.

* * *

><p><em>"It is always nice to see you"<em>

_Says the man behind the counter_

* * *

><p>She had hoped those words were from her soulmate, instead they come from the grease-ball of a chef behind the chipped marble counter. Useless joy etches on the man's face as if it is carved by a master of fine art.<p>

That smile plastered on his face turns her coffee even more bitter—that is, minus the dry alcohol.

* * *

><p><em>To the woman who has come in<em>

_She is shaking her umbrella_

* * *

><p>Dust cloaks Sam's coarse skin; time turns to stone.<p>

Crashing, crashing, and more crashing… From the sky to the Earth, lightening hits superiorly in a heated conversation between the rain and land.

Realising that the chef is in fact talking to the woman behind her, Sam watches as her eyebrows nit into a deep frown. "She wears that smile so humbly, shoving her everlasting youthfulness in my face," Mrs Scam thinks to herself.

* * *

><p><em>And I'm turning to the horoscope<em>

_And looking for the funnies_

* * *

><p>Her mind trails back to the soggy newspaper on the table in front of her and inky hands flip dully through pages. Perhaps something in there could change her sour mood.<p>

Pages as uneventful as her love life lose her attention. Thus, emerald eyes shift toward the window's striking, ominous glow.

* * *

><p><em>When I'm feeling someone watching me<em>

_And so I raise my head_

* * *

><p>People stare and gag at his sickly complexion. Sweat stings as it oozes out of Tim's pores, meanwhile time continues to be the winning racer against him. As he heaves, hungry for air, smothering cigarette smoke lingers and clings to his senses.<p>

Time is running out, and rapidly.

* * *

><p><em>There's a woman on the outside<em>

_Looking inside does she see me?_

* * *

><p>Samantha was a stunningly beautiful, young, attractive woman in her, what almost feels like past life; however, the years of drinking have taken their heavy toll on her. Even though she could afford high quality cosmetics, they can't cover up the dejected, darkened bags under her eyes.<p>

That's all she sees in her own reflection.

* * *

><p><em>No she does not<em>

_Really see me_

* * *

><p>Tim's romantic boredom reflects whilst he pasts floral boutiques — on his exhausting journey to her — all as expensive as each other. Gold, black and white flickers glimmer with his face which makes him look strangely godlike.<p>

A moment of staring pasts. He shakes the thought of it off. How could foolish glass windows paint a picture of a god of him through their eyes? Gods consisted of conquering heroes and champions, and she has made it clear that he wasn't her hero anymore.

* * *

><p><em>I am thinking<em>

_Of your voice..._

* * *

><p>Various images ignite in her head and dissolve into even older ones. So easily accessible, like a personal album precisely stored in the back of her mind, albeit she remembers them so vividly.<p>

Nostalgic-ridden snippets replay countlessly and pause on subtle, absent-minded moments where they both look so happy. Be it the grass looking so green against her eggshell wedding dress (frankly, it seems almost illuminating) or the thin, lace veil sitting rewardingly upon her head, they both stare, engrossed. That is, only until he splashes her playfully with lake water. Afterwards, he lays down next to the overflow which lulls him to sleep.

With a sigh, she guesses that the grass is always greener on the other side… but what was 'the other side' exactly?

* * *

><p><em>And of the midnight picnic<em>

_Once upon a time_

* * *

><p>Their story is a fairy tale with an acerbic ending.<p>

"What is that alluring aroma?" Tim asks the eerily quiet street, not to anyone in particular really. He decides to follow it.

Bustling charge awakens the street's dank exterior as buckets of rain hail onto the pavement; gravity is something to worship, he guesses. Thankfully, the smell has taken him nearer to the diner he and his ex-wife-to-be dreadfully promised to meet each other. He stops to take a breath, holding the official papers in his hand. A texture of mushiness is felt as he rubs the soaked documents in between his fingers because he's forgotten an umbrella—the practise of patience did have its rewards.

However, his feet suddenly complain in disdainful voices.

* * *

><p><em>I finish up my coffee<em>

_It's time to catch the train_

* * *

><p>The bell adorn on the door resonates. At least something acknowledges her presence. Shivers crawl down her spine when a whiff of chilly air greets her prickly skin and bones. Although in the morning it had seemed like it was going to be a sunny day, there is nothing sunny about the current weather.<p>

Alongside the persistent booms of traffic, her heels sort of make a click-clack sound as she storms off; puffs of cool air on a spring day escapes the corner of her lips.

"Let him dine on ashes," Sam spits viciously. "Because one day, I'll be the one to rise from them."


End file.
